


Angel Wings on the Devil Bird

by Levash



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon - Anime, Comedy, Drama & Romance, F/M, Mystery, POV Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Reader tag for convenience, Rival Relationship, Romance, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, give it a chance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levash/pseuds/Levash
Summary: |A love story from Levi's POV| In every angel, a demon hides and in every demon an angel strides. Captain Levi doesn't know what he's getting himself into when Commander Erwin asks him to oversee the behavior of a female criminal, and it isn't until Levi meets her that he realizes his job may incline more towards babysitting a mischievous devil.The situation can only escalate onwards and if it isn't handled appropriately, the fall will be all the more painful.
Relationships: Levi & Erwin Smith, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s), Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Chained to a Damn Woman

"Court is in session. General Darius Zackly now presiding."

I don't understand Erwin's reason for coming here and I don't care in the least. I have come to learn from my year of knowing him that there's always some meaning behind his every move. He doesn't care about the means to do it as long as it gets him to where he wants to be, and it is this particular way of operating that earned him my trust and respect.

However, I don't get why the hell he brought me along for this. If my job were to force words out of the defendant through any of my physical methods, then I would understand. But instead, I have been asked to just stand with the crowd and listen to this old geezer blabber his way across the entire procedure. I won't bother myself with that, and I fucking swear that if those cobwebs are not removed from the ceiling within the next five minutes, I will leave this sad excuse of a courtroom. Finances are enough to cover that big-ass bench for the judge, yet they can't afford to hire someone for cleaning duties? 

"Pathetic," I find myself muttering. There seems to be an upsetting lack of care for hygiene amongst the people who manage this shit-hole because they wouldn't have brought that woman of disgusting appearance if they had. I can sense the germs emanating off of her. Tattered clothes that can hardly be referred to as such; disheveled lines of ghost-white hair falling over her face. I can't even differentiate the natural color of her skin from the patches of dirt all over her arms.

I would have never been physically capable of taking a single step in her direction had Erwin asked me to interrogate her. Suddenly, it appears that I'm fortunate to stand at the distance that I am. Then again, I could have avoided this situation altogether if it wasn't for Erwin. I'm tempted to think that he uses my earned respect to his advantage whenever I get stuck doing the shittiest parts of his responsibilities. And speaking of the devil himself, I feel his eyes on me. Surely, he should have sensed my unwillingness to be here, thus I don't bother to look back.

"Behave, Levi," he says in response to my earlier comment.

Damn, I hate the sound of his voice whenever he comes up with something like that. It highlights the authority he has over me, and even though I have come to accept him as my superior, I still have a hard time accepting how much I'm constantly being ordered around. And right now I'm not in the mood to play 'nice soldier', cue the sound of my tongue clicking.

"Would you just tell me already why you brought me into this?" I intentionally make it sound like a statement rather than a question, otherwise, he might brush me off until later notice. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what the hell is it that I have to do."

My assumptions are proven right as he turns his attention to the woman without giving me a damn answer.

Given the time that this is taking out of my schedule, I figure it is the least I deserve, but whatever. Following his stare, I, too, look at the woman that is chained by shackles to a pole. Watching her do nothing but hang her head in direction to the floor is ten times more entertaining than listening to the judge and witnesses.

What is there even to witness? According to what little I have heard, this indisciplined moron has caused nothing but ruckus underground. But since when has anyone given a damn about the crimes that happen there? She must have offended some asshole from the MP's to have gotten herself in this predicament. I would have been tempted to have a bit of sympathy for her were she not this filthy. 

"Miss Denhar, you stand accused of the crimes of voluntary manslaughter, first-degree murder, torture, mental and physical abuse, burglary, fraud, forgery, extortion, and robbery."

I involuntarily blink, but my expression stays the same nonetheless.

The woman hasn't made a move since the moment she was brought and forced to sit on her knees by the pole, dead-ass in the center of the courtroom. Her condition is poor. Her responses are nonexistent. At a single glance, no one would guess that she'd be responsible for so many deeds. And because of this, I am suddenly a bit more interested in her. Not to the degree that would make me content to be here, but enough to distract my ears from the talk that is going on between the judge and witnesses. 

The old geezer then asks her, "How do you plead to your case?" 

My interest is piqued, maybe because I am yet to hear her speak and am wondering if its sound would match the heftiness of her crimes. I'm still in denial since she just doesn't look the part. How could she have caused bloodshed with those sticks that she has for arms? I know from personal experience that physical ability is necessary to attack and escape swiftly.

Ha, now I'm realizing that it isn't my place to score her on this aspect as though I were a murderer, too. I guess it's only normal for the thug inside me to resurface on its own at times since it was a primal part of my livelihood for many years. 

She is taking her sweet time before answering, forcing the judge to repeat himself about three times. 

I know that her behavior is relatively close to a form of taunting. I still use those methods myself; a past habit I refuse to let go. If Erwin wants my power then he has to deal with my sarcasm, help is never something that is given out for free. 

"… Guilty," she slurs out like a dying mule. Her voice is raspy, yet oddly feminine. Clearly, she hasn't been given any water since her capture. I still haven't had a glimpse of how she looks like in the face, though. Her hair --so evidently uncared for-- has been stuck to her skin with sweat even before coming here and she hasn't bothered to shake it off with her head or blow some of it out. One would think she was dead had she not briefly answered just now. 

Damn, I don't usually talk in my head this much. Just how long will this meeting go on for? 

"Miss Denhar, for your crimes, I hereby sentence you to death." 

Just when I thought that this was finally going to be over, I have the damn feeling that Erwin is about to do something and drag me into it without my consent. This has already happened so many times that I have developed a sixth sense for it.

I see his arm from my peripheral vision, raising to get the old man's attention. "Supreme Commander, I have a proposal."

The judge is now looking at us both even though I haven't said a word nor made an action to state that I am involved, but we are the only idiots in court wearing the scout's uniform and I should have foreseen that the attention would naturally come to me as well. 

"Do tell," he answers, expectantly. 

Erwin begins, "Death is far too simple of an escape. If she is to properly pay for her crimes, I would suggest we give her the punishment of having to live with the consequences of her deeds."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" the old man questions, attentive, but not fully convinced. Same as I was.

As for the woman, any reaction from her is null, though it's easy to tell that her attention is sharp.

"Allow me to take her in. Her abilities are not to be wasted, seeing as they appear to come close to Captain Levi's."

Ha, I fucking doubt that. 

"Because of his past, he has naturally developed skills that surpass those of a fully trained soldier, and I know that it will be the same with her."

Did he really just compared me to this lowlife? Fucking asshole, have a blast looking for another right hand to do your shit because it won't be coming from me. 

Still not looking at him, I find instead a single eye, draped behind strands of ash-grey hair and murderously fixated on Erwin. It's the woman reacting to his proposal and by the looks of it, she had been content enough with death that the thought of living under someone's command has thrown her over the edge. The shackles make an annoying sound; it's her first sign of restraint, but Erwin does nothing to acknowledge her. 

I'm growing more desperate the longer this judge ponders. It almost seems that his brain could split in half if he thought about it any more. Unlike him, the second party sitting beside him is relatively calm. I don't know who he is, but I could give less of a shit. 

"You are not requesting a proper punishment, then. What you want are her abilities in battle," the old geezer says, stating the obvious. 

I know that Erwin is about to pull out the ultimate act as he takes the time to pause in 'emotional prudence'. I imagine that his eyelids are closed shut, but I can't say for sure since I'm still refusing to look sideways. 

"Many of my men have perished by her hands, doing the work only MP's are supposed to handle. If she were to receive judgment and be at risk of attacks, it would have to come from the comrades of those who were brutally killed. I, of course, will see to it that it doesn't happen, but there is no greater torture than isolation."

"Fuck you," the woman hisses, and I'm tempted to agree.

"Silence. You haven't been given permission to speak." 

I refuse to believe the judge will fall victim to Erwin's words. He's old, but surely with enough brain cells to see how obviously terrible the act was. What is Erwin even thinking? There has to be a better reason for this, and if there was, he wouldn't be opting to win over the judge with sappy words. I know him to be a better liar than this. His strength has always been in his words.

The old man is doubting and I know that it must have been because of the same reasons I have in mind. 

"And if I were to grant you permission, how do you suppose to keep control of her? She's a deadly criminal who has killed women and children without a drop of remorse." 

I fucking swear Erwin, that if you say my name I-

"She may be strong, but murderers lack technique, a quality Captain Levi has plenty of from his experience in the army. She will be disciplined by him if necessary." 

My technique was impeccable before you even met me, asshole. He would have gotten down on his knees just to get me to join his stupid legion had I doubted any longer. Now I'm pissed, but make no movement nor scold to show it; not worth the effort and energy. I know that Erwin feels the vibes without the need for me to show it.

"Captain Levi, what is your take on this?" 

Oh, how fucking thoughtful. Someone finally asks for my own goddamned opinion. You know what, though, old geezer? If I could speak for myself, I would tell Erwin to stop fucking around, but that's not how it works. This man has domesticated me because I have to shamefully admit that my bite is no longer stronger than my bark. I respect and trust him even though I get pissed at him almost every day, owning to the fact that I'm always inclined to believe that there's a good reason behind his choices and he proves me right every damn time. Whether he has put a leash around my neck or puppet strings behind my back, I don't know. 

I uncross my arms to have them rest on the rails instead. My eyes set to intimidate the woman, might as well get to it while she's here. "Just know that I will not take responsibility for any damages done to her. If I don't get the respect I demand, she's through. I don't give a damn if she's a woman." 

I better receive some form of gratitude for this, Erwin, because I didn't see myself having a stare-down with some female thug when I woke up this morning. I don't give a damn about the malicious glares she's targeting at me, but I won't force myself to deal with this kind of attitude without good reason. And he better have a damn good one.

The old fart, however, still has to issue his verdict, and I am pleasantly surprised by his decision. "I do not doubt the abilities of Captain Levi, but the army is no place fit for a monster like her. Perhaps-" 

As I thought this whole hindrance would finally finish in my favor, the bastard beside him just has to open his damn mouth when no one asked for an opinion. What position does he have that allows him to interrupt the supreme grandpa from dictating the sentence? 

"It is exactly because she's a monster that the army is the right place for her. Just look at how Captain Levi turned out."

Fucking bastard. 

"Hand her over to the Scouting Legion. I'm sure that she will be of… sufficient help." 

Fucking really? Because you don't sound so sure of that yourself. Was he even here when the trial started? His presence is of so little significance that I was far more drawn to the mustache I almost mistook for a stretched piece of shit. He never emitted a comment throughout the whole damn thing, how is it that he gets to fucking choose the final verdict? Whatever his rank may be, it is enough to shit over the mighty stance of the judge.

"But Chancellor…" His whisper is probably intended to reach said Chancellor only, but it appears he can't even pull off a whisper on top of everything else he hasn't accomplished today. 

All eyes are on the pair, including mine. Too fixated on their final answer that silence becomes everlasting.

It's just then that the woman loses it. The chains shake with her movements and make a disturbing sound. Screaming doesn't help her case. "I fucking hate you all! If it's that hard to choose; if you hate me that much, then just kill me already!" 

If I thought she sounded like a dying mule before, she now sounds like a pregnant cow.

Soldiers are flying across my face because they can't stand their ground against a chick whose hands are tied to a pole. Supreme grandpa over there finally finds an excuse to add the sound of his stupid hammer, but the uninterrupted havoc is further proof of his uselessness as a judge. 

"Levi…"

The click of my tongue gets lost in the noise, but I had already been inclined to go there even if Erwin hadn't asked me to. "How annoying," I mutter, mainly to let him know I had listened. I doubt he heard a single shit thanks to the commotion that is going on, but I still am not going to go through the effort of raising my voice any more than necessary. And because I'm still pissed with all of this, my thoughts neglect the urgency. Therefore, I go through the trouble of walking around the rails instead of hopping over them.

The excessive amount of guards barely let me have a view of her, so I wait for most of them to be smacked out the way by her kicks. Up until now, the woman has proven to have quite the character, but I can hardly judge her level of skill from this scene alone since she got lucky enough to have complete morons for guards.

As far as my concerns go, she's yet to earn a single ounce of my attention.

I force her to look at me by pulling her hair up. Strands of ash-grey still clung to the sides of her face, but I can now get a clear view of her two eyes. Both as grey as the skies during a storm. Swollen with tears of outrage and set on intimidating me. A light shade of pink stands out from the rest of her filthy, yet evidently pale skin, and stretches out into a deformed line across her right brow and eye. Whatever the cause, she was fortunate of not losing sight on that eye.

"Don't touch me, you imbecile-"

We will not come to a mutual understanding until she memorizes the concept of discipline, so we might as well start with her first lesson while we're both here. For her own sake, I suggest she starts interiorizing what I'm getting at, because I could bang her head against the poll how many times necessary with the same strength I applied just now and not feel a drop of remorse. Restraint will only award her more consequences; I don't give a damn about her feelings or what she thinks of me.

Good or negative, comments do not have an influence on my behavior, especially if they come out of someone with this little significance to my existence. 

"My foot would have already gone up your ass were my hands untied," she went at it with persistence. 

Cue the kick that flies to her stomach, followed by the sole of my foot on her head as she touches the floor. If I'm going be stuck to her ass every day because of Erwin, then, of course, I want some respect. I'm not going to tolerate this kind of behavior on a daily basis and I definitely do not play around as a babysitter. 

"Brat." I'm not going to waste words when my actions speak louder.

She looks back at me with a stare of helplessness from her place under my boot, and my only regret is that I didn't step on shit before coming here.

The chancellor starts to chuckle behind my back. It is so lighthearted that I know my performance has cleared every bit of doubt away. 

"It's settled then. Miss Denhar will now be under orders of Commander Erwin Smith and Captain Levi."

If I had forced myself to swallow that weird-ass liquid Hange offered me yesterday then I would have probably avoided this situation altogether, because I would rather be eternally constipated than chained to this damn woman.


	2. Fuck My Life

"You have some explaining to do, Erwin." I watch him give his attention to me as I speak, face as expressionless as mine. But even though I am yet to show it, I am fucking pissed at him.

I got myself involved in his own mess at the court so that it would save his ass, but he went off somewhere without telling me a damn thing right after its conclusion. I wouldn't be in front of him right now had I left it in Erwin's hands to look for me. I could have abandoned this place and head back to headquarters if I wanted to and he wouldn't have given a damn.

He thinks that because I'm already into whatever the hell he's planning that I will go back to work like nothing ever happened? Not while I can still talk, Erwin. It's my time and schedule you have taken advantage of, and it's not a thing that can be recovered.

I feel the cold of the stone ooze through the fabric of my shirt as I rest against the wall. I had taken off my jacket a while ago.

Erwin disengages from my hard stare as he leans his elbows on the table, eyelids closed in what I suppose can only be pondering.

The thought that he could be using this time to formulate an equation of complicated lies suddenly crosses me, so I am forced to warn, "Don't think I will swallow any lie that comes out of your mouth. Unlike supreme grandpa over there, I know when you're just shitting around with people's heads. And don't forget that I was the one who stepped up to save your plan from extinction without any orders to do so." 

The part about being able to detect the deception in his words was a lie. But I can't let him seep through the cracks in my face, otherwise, Erwin might realize he can actually get away with most of what he tells me. He can't know about the extent of my loyalty to him either, there's only so much I can let him see. Just as he has his own guarded side, I have mine. 

"Have you heard of the situation that has developed underground?"

His words shoot through my growing cloud of thoughts, evaporating it into extinction. I redirect my eyes back to him and say, albeit without showing any interest, "I haven't."

He huffs, mostly to himself and at some other thought in the back of his head. "I figured as much. The government has been doing its best to keep the matter out of the public eye-"

I cross my arms but say nothing, expecting him to continue elaborating. And he fucking better or else I'll snap an arm of his.

"People are rebelling against the Military Police, causing commotion everywhere in protest. It is believed they have been inspired by the ideology and leadership of some unnamed man. The Crown fears that a time may come in which the people will force their way out of the underground, hence why their petition for my help was bound with threat."

I wouldn't mind it if that were to happen. Aside from the fact that I despise the crown and its army of military goons, I also believe the people are in their damn right to get out of that hellhole. But I understand where Erwin's coming from. The Crown can be a royal pain in the ass whenever they want something done. We have already been obligated to do some of their dirty deeds in the past, and there has never been a slim chance of refutal without consequence. With this information having been processed by my brain, I proceed to ask about the woman and my part on this.

His reaction to my words is nothing short of expected. He's doing-- a thing. Definitely not a smile, but something like that? Ugh, don't bother yourself with gratitude Erwin. If you want to show me gratefulness, then give me a raise, but I didn't ask to see that kind of expression on your face. It's disturbing.

Thankfully, it goes back to the usual look I'm used to as he prepares to answer my questions. "Miss Denhar is believed to have some kind of relation to the man we're looking for, but nothing is for certain until I question her myself." He rests his back on the chair and doesn't talk further as he stares me down.

What? You think I'm not catching on? Get on with the rest of it already, I know that I have to babysit that damn woman.

He reads it in my eyes and continues after a sigh, "The crown has made it clear to keep this a secret so as to avoid any possible panics from the public."

We huff in unison, typical behavior of the Crown.

"We are the only ones who know, Levi. You can't speak a word of this to Hange or anyone. The girl will come with us as a potential candidate for your squad, nothing more."

What makes you think I would voluntarily speak to Hange? I regularly don't even tell her the stuff related to our work. Hence, the reason why she sometimes comes into meetings empty-handed and gets scolded at by Erwin… I'm not sorry at all.

I raise a brow, reaching a conclusion myself. "Is that the reason for the Chancellor's overly exaggerated support?" 

"Indeed."

There's a thought clinging to the back of my head. Is it really part of his intention to share this information with me? I know that I have been working as his right hand ever since I incorporated into the army, but I doubt he even acknowledges that. What I'm getting at is: that it's not in his character to tell me things, which leads me to believe there might be some lies hidden in his explanation. It's just an intuition though, and I can't act based on it until I'm sure of that myself.

For now, I'll just do what he asks of me. I'm not content with the position I'm in, but it could be a complete breeze compared to the troubles Erwin might be keeping to himself. 

I prepare myself to walk out of the room without comment, but Erwin doesn't miss the chance to say, "Thank you, Levi."

Well, you're fucking welcome… asshole. 

* * *

I was told not to head off too far, because we would be retrieving that woman from her cell after he gets done with some of the paperwork that the authorities demanded of him. I am pleased to know that, because the stress has been nagging at me to get a drink and now I finally get to have it. I used to want to return home, but now that I know what will become of my life after I do, I would preferably go through an entire trial once again as long as it kept me from going back just to babysit a grown-ass woman. 

But my peace is short-lived, and only got to last for approximately two sips of my drink before Erwin comes in to get me. If I was only pissed at him a while ago, now I am damn furious. I was forced to pay an overly exaggerated price for a drink that tasted fairly average and I'm not allowed to finish even half of it.

Whatever, let's just get this over with. I'll make myself some tea after this whole nightmare is over. 

Over until the start of tomorrow at the very least. Tch-- You know what? Just… fuck my life.

The door to her cell creaks as the military moron opens it slowly, not minding to hide the scold directed at me as he did.

I deliver it back ten times fold and the coward gives up on the silent battle. It's his job as the prison guard to open cells, I don't understand why the fuck he wanted me to touch that disgusting door and got resentful when I refused. Superiority complex, I imagine. Must be tough to know that some rotten soul from the underground managed to earn more recognition in the short span of a year than his lazy ass ever would.

I'm also criticizing the state of the prison, because I figured that if he's the only buffoon on guard duty, then he should at least bother to clean up this rat hole once or twice a day. I hardly doubt he's busy with the three criminals in the room. 

If I lean too much on one side, the rusty metal will touch my arm, but if I avoid that side for the other, I will risk touching the mold on the stone wall.

How can he breathe in conditions like this? Much less dare to bring us here?

We find the woman chained to the wall, her arms positioned uncomfortably above her head. Strings of ash-grey fell down and over her face like an old, dirty drape; her head is hanging in direction to the floor as to how I saw her at the court. She doesn't react to the sound of our footsteps as we enter her cell, but I notice a small twitch in the movement of her fists.

Who knows what kind of sick thoughts might be going through that head of hers. Strangling Erwin could be one of them; as for me, she can only dream of doing that. 

Erwin kneels down to her level, but I can't bring myself to touch the floor. He starts speaking to her, "Miss Denhar. As you may have heard before, my name is Erwin Smith. We're here to take you with us."

A drop of water falls from the roof and to the tip of my boot. How can there be a leak as we stand in the underground floor of a prison? I can only imagine the amount of germs that are most definitely swimming in that single drop. Disgusting.

My attention switches back to the pair in front after I become aware of my distraction, but it seems that I didn't miss out on anything since the damn woman has yet to emit a reply.

Her lack of cooperation is inviting my boot to pound her face, as I am absolutely desperate to get out of here. I don't know if it is a side effect of that feeling, but I could swear that I'm starting to hear the squeaks of mice in some corners of the cell. My desperation may have influenced the strength of my kick as it lands on her head, but I can say with certainty that is was nothing close to how I did it at the court. 

"Oi, say something, you damn woman," I hiss. 

She looks at me behind the strand of hair that covers most of her face.

It's a look of raw hatred and annoyance, but the sight only amuses me. This is not supposed to be an enjoyable vacation for her either; I will make her life a living nightmare as retribution for the hell that she's brought to mine. That should make us even for the time being. 

She licks her lips, making me notice how terribly chapped they are. "Get your foot out of my face." 

I oblige to her request but add a taunting push to her head as punishment for the venomous hiss of her tone. 

Her voice reverberates inside the cell as she speaks with the quality of a talking frog, "I'd rather rot in prison than be with the likes of you."

I huff while looking away. "Feeling's mutual." 

"I'm afraid you do not have a choice, miss Denhar," Erwin follows in on the discussion. "And it would be wise that you appreciate the opportunity that has been given to you."

The shackles around her wrist make annoying sounds as she pulls herself straight against the wall. Her hair is still stuck with sweat to the right side of her face, limiting our view to only her left eye, the one without the scar. She then proceeds to ask, bile mixed in her snarl, "I refuse to sacrifice my life for the very people that excluded me from society. They don't deserve an ounce of my effort."

"Your own choices made you what you are today."

Her hands struggle against the shackles that keep her bound to the wall. "Fuck you and your formal way of speaking. It tortures my head."

Really? Then maybe I should take you with me to the meetings where he jabbers nonstop about his shit. That should be a great choice of punishment in case you misbehave sometime in the future.

Still, I might have had to step in had she not been restrained by chains.

Erwin's body movements make me look at him as he stands back up, there is no expression on his face that indicates her comment has bothered him as he said, "Do you really mean what you say? Living here will be just as torturous and maybe even more so than the underground, and I can assure you that the police will not grant you the peace that comes with death."

The shackles resonate again as she forces herself forward. "If you hadn't opened that disgusting mouth of yours!" 

None of us would be tangled up in this mess, but this is how Erwin operates. Everything around him can become a pawn fit for whatever plan he has in development, and that's just what she is. That's what I am. 

"Aren't you tired of struggling, Miss Denhar? Of running away and stealing to survive? You are being offered the chance to start anew, to live in a place that offers you basic necessities such as food, water, clean garments, and a roof to sleep under. Your own pride will become your downfall if you continue on like this." 

I am pleasantly surprised by the fact that Erwin is taking his time to involve me in the conversation since it's no mystery that this woman's past is similar to mine. However, I wouldn't like to be compared to a person who is living a life that I have already left behind, and I appreciate that Erwin has kept his yapping mouth shut, whether the choice is intentional or not. 

I move my eyes to the woman after she huffed.

Her mouth is curved in the shape of a sadistic grin, but even that's better than what Erwin attempted a while back. Her lips part to say, too knowingly, "What's expected of me in return?"

"Information."

"Then I will give you a heads up." The woman falls back against the wall, her expression like stone. "I don't know shit."

I turn my attention back to the entrance as I hear a sound made by multiple keys. The guard is ready to free the woman of her restrains at Erwin's command, and I can already foresee that the journey back to headquarters is not going to be pleasant.

Erwin switches looks with me and nods slightly, his way of asking if I am ready since most of the work would depend on me from now on.

I merely huff, and he turns back to the woman, as his next sentence rolls off of his mouth,

"I shall be the one who sees to that." 


	3. More Than a Brat, She's a Devil

I can feel the tension in my muscles as I move on the chair. My joints crack as I stretch out my arms upwards, hearing the sound of an involuntary grunt escaping my mouth afterward.

I hate how my body reacts whenever I doze off on the chair of my office, and yet I keep on doing it every time. If I don't fall asleep during paperwork hours, I do so while staring at the wall; and if I go through the trouble of heading back to my quarters, I still opt for the couch instead of my bed. I don't know if there's a specific reason behind it, but I simply don't bother to question the actions that have already become a routine.

It is still early, so the walk to my quarters is solitary, but I prefer it this way since I can't stand the jabbering of people.

The mess hall is where I hate to spend my free time the most because everyone's schedules align during eating hours. Not only does it get insanely crowded, but people aren't even decent enough to shower before coming there, considering they underwent hours of training prior to that. They brush each other's shoulders, stand near the food and sit on the benches, all while dripping disgusting sweat around.

Imagine some of that splashing on the food that is openly displayed at the counter, or accidentally touching someone else's shoulder to then feel their own sweat on my washed shirt. How is it that no one thinks of this?

Then, there's the mixture of different conversations coming from the tables around me that will not let me digest the food in peace, and these are only some of the reasons as to why I hate it there. 

I, however, have decided to make a slight exception today. Not with much reason in particular other than abiding by the pleas of my squad members, who constantly nag at me to join them at the table.

Seriously, what's up with that? They should just obey my orders if special treatment is what they seek from me. 

"I'm happy you could join us today, Captain Levi."

I don't usually follow lighthearted conversation. Comments like these do not demand an answer unless they're shaped to ask something, and that's why I find it hard to continue a topic that isn't work-related. Most will think I'm being inconsiderate and it's not like that bothers me, but I sometimes find myself wanting to talk, too. Such thing though, demands that I open up to others, and between my two options, I'd rather stay quiet. 

The feminine voice of velvet nature that spoke just now belongs to the medical soldier of my squad, Petra.

Again, I don't know how the heck I can possibly respond to that, but I always make somewhat of an effort for those I can actually tolerate. She's hardworking, actually listens to me, and I know that her intentions lie with the idea of making me join in on their conversation since I'm usually the one who listens from afar.

I nod my head to communicate I had heard, that's as far as I am willing to go.

"Captain Levi is a busy man. Don't worry, sir, I understand if you-- Gah!"

I move down the teacup from my lips to see what kind of stupidity Oluo committed this time around and my expectations are not made short. He loses his grip on the cup for trying to hold it like I do and splatters the liquid around him and Petra, who is unfortunately seated beside him.

I have only known Oluo for a couple of months and have already come to the conclusion that this kid has some major identity issues. Not a day goes by where he doesn't try to imitate something about me --and mostly fail--, including my style of clothing. I don't hate him for it, but it doesn't amuse me either. I mostly only tolerate it because his failures can sometimes entertain me. 

Petra pushes back on the chair, its four legs gliding across the floor to the beat of a screeching sound as she stands up to cry, "Oluo, you jerk!"

Their bickering scenes are mostly harmless and I force myself to tolerate them when we're not working, but I can't stay quiet while there is spilled liquid on the table and they are doing nothing about it. The wood could be damaged if it stays damp for too long. "Stop jabbering and clean that up. That goes for you, too, Petra," I say with the cup to my lips.

I'm not one to keep my eyes open as I'm drinking my beverages since I prefer to focus on its flavor rather than my surroundings. But I am still attentive enough to catch the airless responses of those two and hear the decreasing sound of their footsteps as they walk away. I don't bother to ask, but they better be heading off to get something to clean this mess with or they'll never hear the end of it from me. 

I can't keep my sigh in. 

And these are only two kids from the whole squadron of brats that have been placed under my care for the time being.

About four months have gone by since my promotion, but I'm still new to the stuff regarding leadership in comparison to the rest of squad Captains around here. My team hasn't given me much reason to complain, but it's the responsibilities that come with this rank that wear me out. I have a bunch of young soldiers whose futures are placed in my hands every time we head out of the Walls, meaning that whatever credit is given to me for our victories comes at the cost of having to also assume the responsibilities that come with failure. I can deal with failure just fine, but not when it steals away the life of a soldier. It gives me a load of unnecessary guilt I simply do not have the time to deal with. 

I can hear those two passing over the fault back and forth in the volume of hisses as I place my cup back on the table. Such children. It's hard to keep in mind how young they actually are since this occupation requires them to grow up fast.

Not a minute later and I hear clashing words of confrontation coming off from the other side of the giant room. My tongue moves without my awareness to make a clicking sound as I lay eyes on that insufferable woman causing ruckus this early into the day. I can already tell she is about to become the biggest hindrance of my existence since she's proving herself rightful of that title as she fights off the soldiers who have been told to watch over her. 

Erwin understood that my hands would be busy with paperwork for at least the entirety of the week, so he assigned 'qualified people', as he had called them, to handle the dirty work in the meantime. But I can already foresee that the burden of having her around would be bestowed upon me a little too soon, considering that those in charge of restraining her are doing a pathetic job. 

I, however, am not about to strain myself without reason, and will only react once I know with absolute certainty that the two men won't be able to handle her. I am getting my hopes up way too high, but whatever. 

I can see that she now sports the standard military attire instead of those rags I first saw her wearing, but she just has to go out of her way to show her rebellious attitude and bend the dress code.

The jacket is tied from the sleeves around her waist and the day isn't even hot enough to justify her reasons. Her hair still hovers over her face in a crazy mess, not allowing the visage of her scarred side. Does she not realize that having her hair like that makes her look like some psycho caveman?

I sense that it's time for me to intervene, but I make my way over to the trio with the pace of a snail.

The mess hall has fallen silent as stares of expectation follow my every move, but I don't bother to acknowledge a single one. My eyes are on the chick as she's throwing a ravenous temper tantrum for everyone to see. I'm sure her reasons for doing so aren't even that interesting, to begin with. 

She's a whole new level of downright pathetic and I make sure that she feels it in her veins as I throw her flat on her face to the floor with one of my kicks. These kinds of moments, such as having her squashed under my boot, make me wish I had the guts to step on horse shit.

I feel the guards trotting behind me to secure her wrists to her back with cuffs, only now I feel pleased enough to remove my leg. One of them expresses their thanks, but I am far too busy trying to get rid of her annoying glare to even reply, not that I would have were the circumstances any different. 

She grunts in protest as the guards force her back to her feet, but even so, her uncovered eye stays trained on me. She isn't causing any feelings of intimidation in me if that's what her tiny head is hoping for. 

"You disgust me," she has the nerve to hiss. 

I don't think of wasting words on a reply, but another voice takes my place in answering without my permission to do so.

"Who the hell are you to be saying that?" 

I can tell from hearing it alone that its owner is Eld; another kid from my squad who is actually mature enough to be the leader of a team. In other words, it means that he might be burdened with the responsibility of watching over her in case she is to last long enough for the next expedition, but I highly doubt it could happen. Nevertheless, I might as well warn him about it while he's here; just in case. 

"This woman is a potential candidate for the squad. Or at least, that's what she should be aiming for." I am yet to leave the woman's stare, but the rest of my senses are aware enough of my surroundings to know that the people around us are shocked to hear what I revealed.

She lands a hard blow on the guy behind her with her elbow and says to me, "Get this through your thick skull, you ass-licker."

She gets reactions out of everyone around us but myself. I know I'll get her back sometime later, there is no need for me to show emotion.

"I'm only here because of the man of big eyebrows, but if I had to choose between breathing the same air as you and eating shit. I'd choose the latter."

"I can actually help you with that, you damn woman."

The two guards don't hesitate in passing her to me along with the keys to her shackles. I would have mistaken their eagerness for absolute laziness had I not come to notice the downgrade of their appearances. Disheveled hair, some of it stuck with sweat to their faces. Crumpled uniform and tired expressions that reveal the extent of their struggles against this woman. I knew she would eventually become a handful for everyone, but I didn't expect that two soldiers of the scouting legion would end up looking this pitiful just from attempting to restrain her. I have to say I'm thoroughly disappointed. 

She hisses at me as I push her in direction to the doors, but I address the two men that are already falling behind us, "I will give you a half-an-hour break to figure things out. Don't use it to slack off, because she is still your responsibility. Not mine." 

I am driven to push her into walking because she's not cooperating even in that aspect. What a brat.

I follow her closely from behind like some stalker as we travel down the hallways. My mind, however, is elsewhere; mourning for the little peace that had once been existent in my life as this woman forces disturbing noises out of the shackles with her movements. It's amazing to see how she doesn't require speech to annoy me. This has to be a talent for sure. 

Her voice then pierces my ears. Saying, "You're an ass." 

It is now that I become aware of her once again.

She is still walking at a pace that allows her to stay in my front, but with her neck craned to the side so that her pathetic glare somehow reaches me.

She should already know that her comments don't affect me in the least, but her actions certainly do. Thus, I point out the noise by stating, "Stop moving your hands so much."

As if on cue, I see it. That glint in her eyes that communicates she has just been struck with a devilish thought, and I can almost feel my eye twitch as she starts jiggling her hands with so much passion that I am actually tempted with the idea of murdering her. Is she perhaps a child in the body of a grown-ass woman? 

I think I can manage to stay calm for the time that it will take her to get bored and consequently stop, but the damn woman goes at it all the way to the exit even though I can tell the action is wearing her out. 

Fuck it, I'm done playing mister nice guy.

I swat her legs with my foot, making sure to strike her in a way that causes her to fall flat on her face.

Strangely enough, she lets out a feminine yelp amidst the fall. It's a high-pitched sound that I would have never imagined coming out of her.

I huff out a breath as she turns to glare at me. I know I am feeling amusement, but I'd prefer to think that it is because I've finally got the silence I longed for. 

She bounces back on her feet in a position that makes her front visible to my eyes. The look on her face splutters the word 'challenge', but I'm not about to duel with a woman that has no chance of winning. At least I am nice enough to consider that. 

Instead, I push her back into walking and don't let her cause any more interruptions during the time that it takes us to get out of the building. 

"What the fuck are we doing here?" She stops at the entrance, forcing me to push her yet again into stepping inside. 

"You said you'd be willing to eat shit, didn't you?"

She gags because of the smell and I have to say that it's taking all of my strength not to do the same. 

The stable. A place so feared by soldiers as is the outside world to civilians. Getting someone to clean this hell became such a task that it was later deprived of the importance it actually deserves. If not cleaned regularly, the smell of shit will go as far as the training grounds go; and there have even been times when the stench has reached the building.

I, of course, only had to experience it once to decisively take action, but instead of cleaning the shit myself, I use it as a form of punishment to discipline my group of brats. The bad news, however, is that it has only taken them about two or three times to learn that their actions will bring about this type of consequence, and lately they haven't given me much reason to make them collect horse shit. 

This woman could be my golden ticket. 

I step closer behind her to free her of the cuffs. She won't be able to hold the shovel with both hands tied to her back, but I don't trust her enough to let her roam free without restraints, so I handcuff her hands to the front. 

She bids her time, patiently waiting as the cuffs are clicked open to act upon it.

Did she seriously think that the idea wouldn't pass my head? I block her predictable kick to my head with my arm and throw her off balance. She almost lands on a pool of shit but I am nice enough to prevent her fall by pulling at her hair.

"Holy shit!" 

I still make sure that she hovers just inches above the pile of repulsive smell to let her know without the use of words that any further mishappening will depend on my decision and level of pity for her.

I can almost hear myself chuckle at the sight of her struggle, and catch the feeling of amusement in my voice as I answer, "Holy shit, indeed."

She grumbles curses in the air of whispers as I pull her back up.

I use the remnants of her shock to chain her hands together without effort, then go for the shovel in the far corner of the stable to toss it at her.

She catches it inches before it strikes her face and takes the time to send me another look of repulsion; like I even care. 

"Start cleaning," I order as I head for the entrance in desperate need of clean air. I never give myself the time to be here, but this woman needs supervision every damn second like some newborn child. 

I ignore her as she repeats my same words in mockery, my attention loitering instead on the fields outside, yet also without looking at the soldiers in training.

I don't know what made me believe I could ever take my eyes away from this woman for half a minute because I am lucky enough to turn back just in time to dodge a bullet of shit. I act as though I had intended to do that, but my heart Is flipping and my chest heaving just from the thought of how I could have looked like with shit on my face.

I am far too astound to bother with showing irritation at her. 

I see her placing most of her weight on the shovel, striking a nonchalant pose with a smug look on her face. And oh, how I want to erase that.

"Oops." 

My mouth is parted to set her in place, but another voice butts in from outside the stable.

"Fucking nasty!" someone screeches.

I spot a soldier behind me whose frozen stance shows that he had been passing through when I avoided the attack and possibly saved myself from cardiac arrest.

He should feel thankful, though, because unlike the risk I had of having the shit land straight on my face, this guy was in such angle that it landed on his covered shoulder instead.

I turn back to the woman, whose weight is still balanced on the shovel that's pressed to the floor. 

"Oops," she utters again.

What a character-- and I don't mean that in a positive way.

This woman has yet to show me the proper behavior of a criminal. She's all talk and total clumsiness; going as low as to fall for my same attacks twice. How is it that this woman earned the bloodthirsty background that's grabbing at her from the neck? Her body, too, doesn't seem like it could withstand much. She can hold her ground okay, but more than that is required to thrive in the underground, and I'm not impressed with what I've seen so far. Her tricks speak more about her than the background she so proudly holds. 

And I find myself thinking again, _W_ _hat a pathetic brat._

I follow the man with my stare as he stomps to the woman.

She doesn't react, but I'm not going to move a finger if it is for her sake. Besides, I know somewhere within me that she would handle the man as she did with the guards she got rid off this morning.

If I were to decide on intervening, it would be for the soldier's wellbeing. 

Then again, I may not. He chose the worst place to confront her and I'm not going to risk my chances of stepping on something nasty. 

The shovel drops to the ground with a clank as the soldier pulls her up in the air from the collar of her shirt. He brings her nose-to-nose to deliver his threat, but my guess is that he wants to feel empowerment for the situation he found himself stuck in.

I can see that the woman isn't affected by the approach.

"You have a lot of nerve being alive, woman. I know who you are, and the atrocities you've committed," he growls, but her expression remains the same. He scans her all over, pulling up a smirk after he goes back to her face. "But I'm honestly doubting on whether what I've heard is actually true since you sport the looks of a housemaid far more than that of a criminal's. Minus the charming beauty, of course." 

The comment about not looking like a criminal may have affected her pride more than the other one concerning her charms. She grabs the fist that is holding her tight with an even stronger grasp of her own; it's evident from the way her knuckles tremble and because the man is quick to release her on impulse.

He flickers his hand to relieve the pain that her nails inflicted. But since nothing has yet to occur, I guess there's really no need for me to move from my spot.

She smirks and retaliates, "I could split your ass in two even with my hands tied behind my back."

I huff, feeling the need to add, "Everyone's ass is already split in two, you brat."

"He knows what I fucking mean!" 

I would have liked to avoid this predicament altogether, but pride is a common ideal between them and there's no order that could change their desire to fight it off. I know damn well that I can shoo off the soldier with a mere glance, but my conscience is just not itself today.

As they stand a couple of meters from each other, having a staredown, I can only wonder what in hell did I ever do to deserve this.

Just how I feared, my rank has been downgraded to that of a babysitter. 

The soldier aims his words at me without losing sight of the woman, seemingly forgetting his position --which is still fucking under me-- as he tells me without an ounce of respect, "Take the shackles off. It will spare me of some guilt in case I beat her down too hard."

I would have warned him against it in other circumstances, but with that attitude of his, I rather have the woman ramming a stick up his ass. That will make this a little worth my while. So I abide by his request without comment and free the woman of her restraints.

Like some kind of starved wolf, she pounces on the boy without giving me the seconds I need to take action. I jerk my head forward when I hear male cries of agony and find the stubborn soldier down on the ground with the woman tied to his frame like a pest, his arm twisted in a way that isn't natural.

She just broke the arm of a scout.

Not just any soldier; he is part of the squad that deals with situations in the front lines. Mike's squad, who will surely partake in the expedition that is due next month. And based on looks alone, it doesn't seem like his arm will heal in time.

Aside from that, I am the only one present to supervise it. 

I will never hear the end it from Erwin, and if by any miracle I do, then I will definitely perish by the time I reach Mike's complains.

The two guards I met earlier today fly past me to stop the woman.

I am yet to make a reaction, but unlike the times where I purposely held back my movements, this time around, I couldn't react with enough speed and awareness as I would have liked. Whether it is because of the surprise I got from her stealth attack or simply because my brain hasn't been completely at it since the start of today, I don't know. 

Another howl of pain pulls my full attention back to the scene. Like a ravenous animal, she bites into the arm of one of her supervisors and won't let go even though the other keeps on pulling at her hair.

She is no child, not even a brat. This woman is a damn devil.

And her guards must have come to that same conclusion because, by the end of the day, I am the one escorting this freak, who not only has her hands tied to her back, but also her mouth stuffed with a cloth.


	4. I'm Not A Babysitter, Damn It

Lately, I've been having to remind myself that I'm a soldier who kills titans and occasionally trains brats. I can get by with paperwork duties even though I'm obviously not a secretary… but babysitting? Fucks no. 

Yes, I've trained newbies before this, some more disobedient than others but it's mostly not terrible. And yes, I'm currently the leader of an entire squadron of young brats who barely know shit about responsibilities.

I don't understand what in hell Erwin sees in me that could possibly make him think I would ever babysit properly and at will. Obviously, patience isn't it. Not to mention the fact that I tend to hate being around people.

Ugh, maybe he's done it on purpose this whole time… that bastard. Doesn't he feel bad for the people that are placed under me? Because I sure as hell don't and will make them suffer whenever I feel like it. Maybe that's why most of the bastards who are assigned to me are misbehaved rebels. 

In any case, it's not like I completely hate my daily tasks. I have come to accept this form of babysitting. However, it's this new, other type of babysitting I just don't have the time to deal with. The kind that requires 24/7 supervision because of this one brat that can't take a piss without me risking that she lights the building on fire. 

What's more, I shouldn't even be concerning myself with these worries, because this isn't my job until the very end of the week.

Erwin knew of my paperwork duties and so do the two soldiers who have just stopped by my office and interrupted my signing-spree. The papers have to be done due today and I would have still been working at it for my tenth consecutive hour if it wasn't for these goons who came in uninvited.

The poor idiots are out of breath, panting and heaving like dying animals, disgusting sweat slithering down their temples.

I, of course, notice that the infuriating woman isn't with them, and I can't see her outside the door.

This better be good.

"Captain Levi, sir! The prisoner has escaped and we can't find her anywhere."

Of course they lost her. I would have laughed at their misery if I knew how to.

And what's with asking me for assistance on this matter? There are plenty of other people that could help them deal with this. I shouldn't have offered my help yesterday when the situation almost slipped out of their hands, now I'm stuck with these men's problems who think I must be some type of guardian when it comes to this woman. 

I am really tempted to ignore them and remain in my office instead, but then an image of Erwin pops into my brain in all of his evil glory, and I suddenly feel forced to leave my duties for this.

I honestly don't know who he'd kill were she to disappear on us, so I rather not risk the chance even though it's obvious that it shouldn't be me until the end of the week. But whatever…

I step out of my office with the two useless guards and lock the door, then ask them for an update on the situation as we walk further down the hallway, "When was the last time you saw her?" 

Even though I am looking to the front of my path, I can feel their wariness of me. And with much reason, too, because helping them doesn't mean I actually feel pity for their incompetence; they better not be nonchalant about this.

I see from my peripheral vision how they exchange glares to pass the burden of answering onto the other. I don't have time to be patient, because the sooner they answer my questions, the sooner we'll find her and end this unnecessary mess.

To be honest, I am slightly worried of how Erwin might react if he finds out about this. Yes… we all have some psycho superior who we're bound to fear. Even me. 

Finally, after an encouraging look from me, one of them says, "During breakfast, sir." 

I just have to raise a quizzical brow at the two as I query, "Isn't she in solitary confinement because of yesterday's mis happening? How could you lose her if it was just the three of you?"

They are visibly nervous, but I know that they didn't do anything wrong on purpose or out of laziness. These are good men. However, everyone knows I'm not a morning person when it comes to interacting with others. Besides, this is how I deal with people to make sure they try harder next time. I do know that mistakes are bound to occur, but this is the army and not some soft-spoken job.

They elaborate further, "She threw hot coffee at us, sir. We went out to change and locked the door."

I'm sure they are catching on to the heavy disappointment of my sigh, then I ask, "Did you lock the window?"

There is no answer from them, just an exchange of looks between the two.

Hence, another sigh from me. "Of course you didn't," I add. 

"B-but, sir, her hands were cuffed."

"She's a thief from the underground, what more did you expect?"

Okay, whatever. There's nothing that can be done about it, but I hope that they at least learn their lesson so that I don't have to deal with this in the near future.

Now, to the pressing matter at hand. The headquarter building is composed of three floors, then there's the field that surrounds it, the barracks, a smaller building for the medical department, an entire area dedicated to the stable and horses, and the small forrest used for maneuver gear training.

We have our work cut out for us, specially if it comes to this particular woman. I don't want the soldiers searching inside because chaos will be sure to unfold if the rest find out that the woman has escaped and disappeared. She became popular amongst everyone after yesterday's little show that she offered. 

I stop by the doors that lead to the mess hall and the two men follow suit, then I give them a glance and say, "I'll scout the building. You two handle the areas outside."

I honestly just want to avoid the stable and its horse shit. 

They smack their chests with their right fists and walk away elsewhere within the building.

I have no idea where to start. The mess hall is too crowded for someone who's attempting to hide from her guards, but she can also be in the kitchen to steal some rations. The woman has her fair share of food, but I can't be certain about its quality since she's a prisoner and all. Though Erwin promised her decent food in exchange for her cooperation, I know that he can be merciless and lie his way into people's heads.

I pass through the hall with steady feet, switching glances between the tables that cross my field of vision. I still don't think she could be here, but it would be safer to check just to be certain.

I notice that the other blonde giant of weird mustache is at one of the tables. His sharp sense of smell could actually be of help, but my pride is far more important to me. I can't imagine myself following this man as he sniffs every nook and cranny of the building like some human dog… what a weird sight that would be.

I also don't want to admit that I lost the woman, regardless of whether she's yet to become my responsibility. 

So I continue to walk until I make it to the far end of the giant room where the kitchen and storage room are located at.

I ask the cook, filthy-looking guy by the way, but he hasn't seen any woman around.

Even I know she wouldn't come here on free will. This man is always full of grease, treating the food like everyday's shit when it should be handled with outmost delicacy. Hence, another one of the reasons why I almost never eat at the mess hall.

Unlike the meals given by the government, food outside of the legion costs money, but I mostly decide to spend my savings in exchange for a guaranteed good meal. 

She isn't in the storage room either, nor are there traces of her appearance. Now I don't have any lead on where to search, but at least the mess hall has been fully covered, so one less room to forage.

I can only mourn for the lost time and promise myself that I'll kill her once I find her, because trust me, I am willing to do it.

I am walking aimlessly down the hallways while opening storage doors whenever I find one, until I spot this particular door that makes me freeze before even touching its knob. I feel a perturbing chill run down my spine, as if something sinister waited behind this only source of barrier. I know for a fact that it isn't the woman, because her presence is just the overbearing type.

This one, though, can only come from a devil's minion. Someone so crazy that even I have come to fear her. 

I really don't want to open the door, but I need to make sure that every area in the building is covered, so I twist the knob and pull it open.

"Levi!"

Oh fuck, I know that voice. Even though I can't see shit in the dark, it's impossible to miss that unmistakable high-pitched sound. I merely sigh, not bothering to turn on the lights since I don't want to curse my sight with the view of her presence.

"What are you doing, Hange?" I ask, though I make sure that my face expressions don't show curiosity. 

Her head pops out of the shadows like some crazy ghost, her annoying grin ever so present as she slides her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and answers, "I'm running experiments! You know how Titans lose power when they're in the darkness? Well, I'm trying it out myself to see if it's the same with humans! Besides--"

I have to interrupt before it extends any further. "That's great, Hange, I just want to know if you've seen that prisoner Erwin brought the other day."

To my complete irritation, she starts laughing, and I am so ready to kick her in the face.

"You already lost her, huh?" She crosses her arms and adds, "Erwin won't be pleased, ya know?"

My hand naturally falls back on the knob, ready to throw the door back to a close any second now. I merely huff, trying to keep my nonchalant tone present. "I didn't lose her. Those useless guards of hers did."

She has the freaking audacity to roll her eyes. "You can say whatever you want, Levi, but Erwin told me she was part of your squad now. So, how does it feel to have a mini you on the team? You gave us the same headaches when you and your friends first arrived--" 

I don't need to hear her mouth jabber any longer and throw the door back shut. I can only hope that it hit her face. "Just keep running your experiments, you psycho." 

This Titan-obsessed scientist is one of a kind, indeed. I normally can't stand her, but it doesn't make her any less reliable. Nevertheless, if I were to show the least bit of appreciation for her, she would never let it go, so I keep our relationship as it is. 

* * *

Along the way, I stumble into her most trusted comrade. Moblit, I believe his name is. The poor man has a similar burden to mine when it comes to Hange. It isn't his obligation, but anyone under the leadership of Hange would naturally be concerned about the things she does to herself and her squadron. He appears to have a greater sense of loyalty for her. 

"Captain Levi, have you seen Section Commander Hange?"

My head turns to the window that's plastered on the wall to my side.

I don't think Hange would still be stuck in that freaking closet. How long has it been since then? It was around breakfast time when I found her and now that I've seen the orange sky I figure it must be somewhere around noon. What a crazy weirdo.

"…No," I reply and continue past him. It's not like the door is locked. She can get out whenever she wants, so it is not of my concern. 

More importantly. Have I really been searching this long? I can't believe I let this infuriating woman take time out of my busy schedule for a game of hide-and-seek. And the two soldiers haven't contacted me either. They better be on the look out even if it costs them the entire night, because if I find them slacking off anywhere near my path, I will personally hang them from the ceiling of my office. 

Right now I just can't afford to waste any more time. My papers are due today, but Erwin, being the somewhat considerate person he is, has given me another day to pull this off. So yeah, the building can burn in hell with the woman as the supreme devil for all I care, but I'm finishing my papers tonight. 

I pull out a key from the inner pocket of my uniform jacket and shove it inside the knob to unlock it with a click. Just from that sound alone, I hear ruffling noises inside as though this person or thing hadn't expected anyone to arrive at this hour.

Mind you, this is my fucking office and I lock it for a reason. I hold back my fury and push the door open just so that I don't slam it against the wall amidst my impulsiveness. The door creaks a little as it moves, so I make a mental note to fix that later. 

Oh, and speak of the devil… 

The unwanted feminine voice I have come to barely tolerate regards me as though she owns the damned place, "Oh, it's just you." 

Sprawled on my white couch, the female thug has both of her feet hanging from the armrest. Her eyes look at me with boredom, as if she hasn't been caught red-handed just now. As for the cuffs, they are nowhere in sight. 

I don't think she understands just how much of a beast I can become whenever I feel disrespected, because any other normal person would have never had the guts to think that taking some time off on my couch is 'okay'.

She isn't even clean enough to sit on it, let alone lie down. Her scarred face is a mess of dirt, as are her arms and whole uniform.

I'm surprised at myself that I'm yet to kill her… but I'll get there. 

Judging by the open window, she's been monkeying around the roof and eventually finished in here. Just my luck. Why couldn't it have been Hange's quarters instead? 

I take desperate strides across the room and slap her feet off of the armrest.

She grunts because of the force with which her feet plummet to the floor, but I can't give less of a fuck. It actually encourages me to grab her by the ear and pull her back up to her feet.

As if her hissing isn't infuriating enough, she swats my hand and steps away to create some distance between us, her hand resting on her ear.

She even has the actual nerve to ask as if I had offended her, "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You're not in a position to complain."

She huffs, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I do. You just aggressively touched a lady."

"...What lady?" 

Her feet stomp the ground just like a child; her cheeks have actual color in them because of the embarrassment. "Fuck you!" she retaliates for a lack of a better thought in her mind.

I must admit that this time I have to actually make somewhat of an effort to avoid moving a muscle in my face. Her child-like tantrums remind me of someone I once knew. She was just as troublesome as this woman now that I'm giving it more thought, but I would preferably just leave the memory alone altogether. 

I am suddenly drawn to the dark patch on her shoulder, some of which had slithered down her arm and stained most of the uniform in that area.

She is just like a child; getting into troubles and having others to fix them for her. 

I shift my weight from one foot to the other and breathe out my stress.

She's been tormenting my thoughts all day with her disappearance and even now that I try to start with my paperwork, she's still giving me an extra load of baggage to bear with.

I'm not concerned about her injury, but I don't trust the means in which she might have acquired it. She could have gotten into a fight with someone or failed at stealing something. The possibilities are endless with this devil, hence why I feel the need to demand an answer. "What did you do now?" 

She swings her head to the side on impulse, barely letting me finish my own sentence as she replies with one of her own, "That asshole deserved it."

Her response implies that she, indeed, had gotten into a fight, but there is something in her reaction that makes me doubt her answer.

I am already starting to memorize how she naturally reacts to certain situations. Right now, for instance, she has acted bashfully. This might become an advantage later on. 

Well, there's no use in letting her bleed out to death, so might as well deal with the wound while it's small enough for me to take care of. 

I go to my desk and open the second drawer to the left. I can feel her stare boring into me as I take out a plastic bag that has some medical tools for basic treatment.

She is quick to ask, somewhat warily, "What the heck are you doing?" 

I don't have enough patience to deal with her. Erwin needs her alive and I don't want her to stain my couch. I only need to get my freaking papers done.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I call her over using movements with my head, not really in the mood to talk, but this infuriating woman just has to make things difficult. 

"And risk dying by your hands? No way." 

I grit my teeth behind sealed lips as she shakes her head. I am not sure if she is naturally this annoying or if she's just pretending to be. Though I don't want to let her know how much she successfully gets into my head, so I huff out lazily, "Please, you would already be dead had I felt like it." 

She takes a stance that communicates her desire to fight. "Wanna get at it, you dunce?" she boasts. 

Damn, she still thinks she can actually last in a brawl against me, the poor soul.

I don't know what ever made me think she would actually cooperate, and I don't have the energy to force her into obeying either.

I steal a glance at the window that is plastered to the wall behind her and realize that there is no longer any light in the sky. The amount of time she has made me waste in one day is actually incredible. 

I swap the outside view for the gray glare of her eyes. The scar on her left side is ever so present and drawing my attention to it, as does that crazy hair of hers that never seems to be in place. Would it kill her to watch over her appearance just a little? 

I stride over to cut our distance short once again, and her stance only gets stiffer. The idiot thinks I'm actually intending to fight her. Would I seriously do it with a bag of medical tools in my hand? I think the fuck not. 

She makes a brave attempt at striking me, but I swat her hand off and force her back to the couch by tugging at her hair. Her mouth lets out a funny yelp as I plunge her ass down on the cushions. 

I take a seat beside her and waste no time in unzipping the bag so that she can catch on to the message already. All the while, I'm trying to ignore the fact that her dirty presence is staining what is left of my clean couch. 

Her eyes narrow at me and her mouth parts open to emit a comment I most certainly did not ask for, "You're stupid if you think I would ever take my shirt off in front of you."

I reply with a subtle roll of my eyes. This woman is too conceited for her own good. "Don't be ridiculous. Aren't you wearing a sports bra?"

She stares me down without answering.

All I want is to get this over with, so I add with a humorless huff, "What makes you think I would take the time to look at you?"

She drives away her stare, her lips pouting. "You're treating me like a freaking boy."

"You're my responsibility. That's all you are." Despite my responses, she's still not moving, and I am close to losing it. "Just strip the fuck down already! I don't have time for this."

She finally does as ordered, but never stops glaring at me with her judging eyes. "…Pervert," she mutters. 

The idiot must still think that I have ill intentions because she unbuttons the blouse just enough to get her arm out into view.

Whatever, I can't care less about what she thinks of me.

I carefully move my hands to grasp her arm and analyze the injury on closer watch, but the sudden flinch of her body makes me retract my hands in one swift movement, as if her skin has caught on fire.

To my complete bewilderment, she starts howling in what appears to be fake pain. "Oh my Walls, you're killing me! Someone please save me from this psycho!"

I growl in return. "The only psycho here is you."

"And he's a pervert, too!" She hisses in real pain after I flick her forehead with some extra added strength from how I normally do it. Serves her right for being such an ass.

I use her distraction to grab her arm and start healing it once and for all. With less delicacy this time around, of course; call it a brief punishment if you will.

She finally abides without protest and for the first time since I came here, silence is finally uninterrupted. 

I'm not a pervert or anything remotely close to that, but my eyes just involuntarily catch on to the definition of her arm. I always thought her limbs were made of skin over bones, but it seems she has a decent amount of acquired muscle. It can barely be noted below clothes, but that can probably be attributed to the lack of nutrition.

Her pale skin is dressed in scars of endless sizes and forms. She really does have the body and presence of an underground survivor. 

And I could be wrong about this thought, but I'm almost certain that her arm has relaxed by considerable amount compared to how it was when I started. It actually urges me to treat it more carefully. Maybe this way she will learn that just like her bad actions have consequences, her good ones do too. 

I wrap it up in bandages and she wastes no time in drawing her arm back inside her shirt to button it up.

Her look has softened up but it's still wary of me.

I don't even care at this moment, I am just glad that this is over.

I can still feel her gaze on me as I walk back to my desk to place the items inside the same drawer I took them out of.

Even now, I know that she's yet to look elsewhere, so I query without bothering to spare her a glance, "…What?"

She makes a weird sound with her lips, and I'm sure she has swirled her head in another direction. Like I mentioned before, I'm quickly learning her habits and behavior.

"T-thanks, I guess..."

I'm about to grab some papers, but her words surprise me. Now, every attempt at movement banishes from my head. I let brief bewilderment flash in my eyes only because my back is turned to her, but even with such safety, I still force my usual look of stone back into place.

I don't know if I should reply to that. Would it affect my authority over her? What if I make her think that we are on good terms? 

As luck would have it, she relieves me of this unnecessary stress by adding, "…You're still a jackass and a pervert though."

Now I can turn back to flick her in the forehead with as much strength as I want and not feel bad about it.


	5. I Swear to Fuck, I'm Stressed

“In other words... you haven’t made any progress at all.” It’s like I remind him of a bad memory when I say that because he pukes out what easily looks like the biggest sigh of his life.

He runs his fingers across his scalp in an almost desperate manner and for a moment I cannot believe it is Erwin Smith who’s before me. 

But it is him, and I feel very tempted to pull up a smirk because of that fact. How can’t I? Erwin’s problems are the only reason why I am busting my ass off every freaking day. Heck, this past week would have been laid-back; the kind that I rarely get, if it wasn’t for the woman and the stack of problems that she brings along. I can’t possibly be the only one who’s guzzling down the shit that comes with this ordeal, so it is a relief to know that Erwin has tagged along and is experiencing some of the stress that I go through on a daily basis. 

He pushes back on the chair and gets up on his feet. There is no streak of hair out of place, nor any tensed muscle in his face, but the aura of tiredness follows him as he walks over to the window at the back of his office. He has yet to give me an answer, but the sight of his posture is enough visual for me to take a guess. 

I did say that his suffering delights me, however, I fear that the degree of his problems could actually reflect the weight of my own later on, given that we are practically stuck on the same team. The longer it takes him to solve this, the longer I have to babysit that damn woman. 

Fuck this bastard. How is it that this mess suddenly became mine to deal with as well?

I realize after letting out a sigh, that the muscles of my shoulders have been rigid all this time without the apparent knowledge of my brain. I roll them backward a couple of times and hear some joints crack.

Aside from the evident alterations to my work routine, my sleeping schedule has also been a complete shit this past couple of weeks. 

I become aware of the couch that is positioned behind me and take advantage of Erwin’s lack of attention to ungracefully plop down on the cushions. The urge to sigh is strongly present, but I make an effort to stay quiet. I stretch out my arms across the back of the sofa and focus back on Erwin, whose head is still facing the window. 

I can see the reflection of his blue eyes in the glass, peering downwards at what I can only assume are the soldiers in training, but I can’t tell if he is lost in thought, or plainly avoiding my stare. 

Whatever the case, I am set on staying here until he gives me the answers I seek. 

Finally, he speaks. “I remember telling you to only worry about miss Denhar, did I not?” He cranes his neck sideways to stick a wary eye on me. “Therefore, what I do or do not achieve is none of your concern.” 

Was that irritation in his voice just now? How dare he. Erwin is talking as though I were prying into matters that have nothing to do with me, but they fucking do. It absolutely fucking concerns me in every damn way possible because it is my time, sweat and energy being exploited for the benefit of this damn plan that he won’t bother to explain to me either.

There is no signed contract stating that I have to cooperate. I could quit any time of the day and he wouldn’t be able to do shit about it other than taking away my privileges as Captain, and I could live without those luxuries just fine since I was raised under worse conditions. 

I am merely being sympathetic because I know the bastard would be weeping in the toilet right now if it wasn’t for my constant assistance.

It’s usually in my nature to keep my mouth shut as well as every thought in, but that isn't working out today. I place the fault on stress and lack of sleep. “If your shit is too shady to reveal, at least have the decency to give me updates on your progress. Prove to me that my time and effort has been put to use.”

He sends me a look of pity right afterward, the type that I would rather not see directed at me. What does it even mean? Don’t tell me that I sounded like some injured child when I spoke my thoughts out loud. I mean... I am having a fucking bad time, but I don’t need anyone to know that. Erwin, even less. 

This is precisely why I never bother to express my thoughts. I would rather be seen as a living stone than ever be looked at with pity or sadness. It is uncomfortable and utterly embarrassing. 

“You’re right, Levi. I apologize,” he answers. The sound of his voice is back to its usual serenity. 

For a moment, I don’t know how to reply, because I never thought that Erwin would admit defeat to any statement of mine. I cross my leg over the other to feign indifference, but I am pleasantly surprised about his response. “Don’t sweat it,” I say back as if nothing ever affected me in the first place. I would rather have him think that I never really cared, even if that isn’t entirely true. 

Erwin goes back to his desk and flops down on the chair, somewhat ungracefully. I can’t tell if the action accidentally slipped out or if he simply didn’t mind that I was present to witness it. 

“Miss Denhar is a serious case,” he says. “I can’t get her to tell me anything.” 

“Have you tried brute force? I can lend you a hand with that.” 

I kid you not, he freaking chuckles after my offer and that shit sounds creepy. I can only assume that it is the stress affecting him, who knows. It would have felt more normal to hear a halfhearted sound come out of him, but it was entirely lighthearted and real. 

His answer matches the vibe of his chuckle. “Thank you, Levi, but I don’t want to burden you with anything else.” 

Aw, how fucking thoughtful. Though, I would feel more grateful if he just sent the woman back to jail already. 

I am sure that Erwin sees the thought reflected across my face but does not acknowledge it. Instead, he continues with the statement. “Just worry about miss Denhar for now. I shall take care of the rest.”

It’s not like I was planning to cooperate any more than necessary. However, I do feel some level of pity for him. Despite the troubles I’m going through because of this blonde bastard, I can bet my entire week’s worth of rations that he is handling some tough shit on his own. Why? Because that’s just who Erwin is as a person. There has to be some shady ass secret involved for him to keep so silent about it. 

The poor bastard... perhaps I could offer some additional help. Just to make sure that he doesn’t die before the next expedition. Granted, he makes a good leader.

Unexpectedly, he adds, “She does remind me a lot about you, though.” 

And just like that, the thought dispels. I feel inclined to growl, but quite the opposite happens. I huff out a breath that sounded a bit like laughter and I don’t even know why it happened. “...Bastard,” I mutter. My tone, however, doesn’t match the strength of the spoken word. 

* * *

Three fucking hours. I watched the sun hide behind the horizon, the sky changing from blue to orange and then black. I spent three hours inside Erwin’s office because he doesn’t know how to take a hint, or more specifically, he chooses not to.

I sent him various signals throughout my time spent there, indicating my desire to leave, but it would seem that he was far more interested in whatever it was that he yapped about to care about my schedule.

Was the conversation even important? I was too busy not caring to listen. 

I am tempted to think that he did it on purpose, because there was a point in time in which I bravely stole a glance at the clock, and everyone in the corps knows how Erwin feels about that kind of shit. 

To be caught looking away from his eyes while he’s still talking is the same as blurting out 'shut the fuck up already, I'm bored' without the use of words, because if everyone can agree that Erwin always goes off on his speeches, then I’m sure he knows it, too. 

That can be quite the blow to his pride.

And he knew that I had free time to spare after this visit, which was all the more inviting for Erwin to take his sweet time talking.

I was given time to finish my papers as was agreed between Erwin and myself at the start of the week, and now it is my turn to fulfill my end of the deal, which involves the insufferable woman that I despise so much.

Therefore, I want to enjoy what is left of my night inside the peace of my office. You know what? I’ll even add a glass of wine on the side. We’re not supposed to take any bottles from the storage room unless it’s the night before an expedition or some special occasion of the sorts, but I’m usually the only one who opts for tea, so tonight I am merely claiming what should be considered my share. 

Thus, I take a different turn and head for the storage room. It is almost curfew so there’s a high chance that the corridors will be empty for the most part. If I happen to stumble into anyone, I’ll just scare them away with a scold. 

I am trying to free my mind of work-related thoughts by thinking about what brand of wine to choose, even though there aren’t that many options to pick from. The Crown is quite selfish in that aspect, but I stopped minding a long time ago. 

Then, and to my complete misfortune, I step into the next corridor and win a front-row view of the woman, who’s once again involved in a fight with some other soldier.

I was too lost in my thoughts before coming here that I never paid attention to their bickering, hence why I never expected to find her here nor do I know of their reason for fighting.

I am tempted with the thought of leaving the scene before anyone catches on to my presence, but just as I get one foot off of the floor, this female devil pushes her opponent down the stairs that were unconventionally built at the spot of their confrontation. 

To be frank, the guy never stood a chance. That woman is freaking crazy. 

I am upset at the fact that this is my second or third time getting caught off guard by her actions. Much like yesterday, I react way too slow in comparison to how I usually go about these types of things. I couldn’t save him from the terrible fall down the long line of stairs, but I use her distraction to go for a strike behind her back.

In the meantime, while she has yet to learn of my presence, she hisses at the man who is most likely at end of the staircase by now, “Have a taste of your own medicine—!”

I bring about her fall headfirst to the floor before she can finish her sentence. Once again, I place my boot on the side of her face to further enhance my superiority over her and she struggles to crane her neck sideways in search of the person responsible. 

She growls upon encountering my eyes, but to me, it only serves as an invitation to squish her face that much harder. 

I turn my head towards the stairway and see that the soldier has already been spotted by nearby people who are now checking on his condition. I am relieved by the sight, so I look at the shit under my boot once again. 

I force her back on her feet without any concern for gentleness and proceed to push her in direction to her quarters. I am wondering where her pathetic guards were while all of this was happening, but I shouldn’t even care anymore. My duties as her guardian start tomorrow, so I might as well just get on with it while I’m here. 

I don’t even care about the wine anymore, I only want her chained to the bed for the rest of the night. 

She grunts when I kick her past the doorframe that leads to the room and I am not surprised when she stumbles down to the floor upon losing balance. She has proven to be an expert in the art of tripping in spite of the surprising criminal record that she withholds.

I will not punish her for today’s actions, but I am furious. She has disabled two soldiers in less than forty-eight hours while we’re only weeks away from the next expedition. There aren’t that many recruits per year, so we need every current member available. I don’t expect her to understand, but I can’t have her doing this daily. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” I growl, “Did you even have a good enough reason to kick him off the stairs?” 

She gets up on her feet but does not spare me a glance. Instead, she stares at the wall as if the thing were ten times more interesting. “You have despicable men in your line of work.”

I feel a blow to my pride, but make an effort to appear serene. “Are you supposed to be the incarnation of an angel, then?” 

She pulls out her middle finger but says nothing. Meanwhile, I don’t know how to feel about it. I just want her back in a cell, and yet, I have escorted her to a decent room because that’s what Erwin told me to do.

My attention travels to the window frame without any glass, to the dirty mattress and its single bedsheet. I notice that the restroom has no door that could give her any privacy and that the available furniture is in terrible shape.

Okay... not the most decent of rooms, but it’s not like she deserves better. 

I swing my hand in direction to the bed, implying that she prepares to sleep. “We will discuss your punishment tomorrow.” I don't expect that she actually listens, but I am quick to stop her before she even touches the bed with those filthy hands. “Woah, what the fuck are you doing?”

She gives me a questioning look and says, “You just ordered me to hop into the bed, dumbass.” 

I let the insult pass without any consequence since I am far more concerned about her filth. It’s not my bed, but I couldn’t let her contaminate the sheets, knowing that there is a possibility, although slim, that it could touch my bed sometime in the future.

“At least be decent enough to wash before going to sleep, you caveman,” I say while turning my back to her, given the fact that there is no door to the restroom. 

“If you’re going to insult me, at least have the decency to say cavewoman.” 

I stick my leg out to the side just as she is about to take her second step towards the restroom and it successfully gets her to fall on the floor. Surprisingly, the sweet sound of the fall combined with her girly yelp makes for an entertaining image and I suddenly feel my mouth stretching out of pure amusement. 

Damn, she’s quite the klutz.


	6. The Resemblance

I know that I must be looking like a creep, given that I have not taken my stare off of this woman since I went to get her in the early morning. 

Up to this point, can anyone even blame me? This crazy female pushed a man down the stairs because she fucking felt like it.

She has proven to have appalling skills of interaction with others, and that’s saying a lot, coming from someone like me. Hence, why it is only us in a tiny room having breakfast and I’m hating every minute of it. 

For starters, it is quite apparent that the place hasn’t been touched by anyone in while, because I accidentally graced the back of my hand under the table and felt nasty shit on my skin. 

Then, there’s the fact that it is just the two of us in here. 

By no means, I am saying that this woman is a threat to me because she wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on me even in my sleep. Instead, I worry about her childish tricks, which are a real pain in the ass. I still haven’t forgotten about the fucking shovel of shit that she attempted to hurl at my face.

Today, she hasn’t been annoying so far, but I am rightfully insinuating that she may attempt to catapult a spoonful of hot soup at me at any given moment. Thus, my reason for staring at her so intently. 

Her occasional glances are telling me to scram my eyes away, but she is in no position to be requesting anything, much less ordering me around. It actually encourages me to stick my stare on her that much more profoundly and raise a judgmental eyebrow at her, just so that she can experience that same annoyance I feel whenever I look at her face. 

My intention seems to have accomplished the job, because she looks evidently vexed while she makes a sound with her mouth and sneers, “Stop gawking at me, you creep.” 

I huff. “What’s there to even gawk at? Stop complaining and eat your meal.”

Based on the tension in her cheeks, I can tell that she is pressing her teeth together. It would seem that she wants to get at it this early in the morning, but I’m simply not in the mood to beat her ass right now. 

I merely harden my glare and she drops her head downwards to face her bowl of soup instead.

Her earlier comment about gawking at her made me surprisingly curious about her appearance because I can barely view her as the woman that she is with her atrocious lack of concern for personal care. I would get it if she had been taken out of the underground recently —even though I never used it as an excuse, myself—, but she has been with us a little over a week and the necessary items have been provided to her from day one. 

With these thoughts in mind, I take the time to thoroughly study her looks. 

Her hair is still looking like an old drape from some abandoned restroom in the middle of a forest. She could at least have the decency to brush some of the dry strands off of her face or keep it tied, maybe then, I’ll get a proper view of her face and be able to judge based on something. I know that half of what is covered behind her hair has the scarred eye, and it makes me think that perhaps she wants to hide it? It is hard to tell because I mostly find her not caring about her overall appearance. 

With nothing else to watch, I throw my attention to the bowl of soup that is almost empty, save for some leftover meat, and I am immediately appalled by the sight. One would think that, as an underground survivor, she’d at the very least appreciate the opportunity of having some protein on her plate, separated and cooked only for her to eat. It is a scarce resource even aboveground and our legion is fortunate enough to provide some for its members. She is only a lowlife that happens to be here and we’re handing off our rations for her to stay alive. 

How fucking ungrateful, and I just feel the need to address it. “There are people starving underground and you’re leaving scraps? The quantity wasn’t even that large, to begin with. What’s your excuse?” 

She looks at me. Her stare is plain as she answers, “Take me outside if you want to know.” 

I am sure that my face has contorted with anger because I feel appalled. “Excuse me? Your privileges go lower than those of a cook. What makes you think you can order me around?” 

Her stare drops back on the empty bowl, still emotionless; looking bored, even. “So this is what I’m stuck with ‘till the day I die?” she murmurs; apparently so that I don’t hear that she is referencing me, but I obviously fucking hear. 

I take a quiet breath to calm my nerves. “Feeling’s mutual, but I’ll have you know that it is only until Erwin says we’re done.” 

She leans back on the chair as if a topic has caught enough of her interest for a conversation. “Oh, so is he like your master?” 

What in hell has she insinuated?

“He is not my master,” I growl.

The woman is surprisingly nonchalant about it and ignores my answer so that she can instead talk about shit that I definitely did not ask about. She starts, “There are people who can’t walk without a leash around their necks, otherwise, they’d get lost. You and I appear to be the same in that aspect.” 

Forget about the fact that she’s blurting out information that could be of value to Erwin. Fuck all of that. I don’t want to hear it. 

“I’m not like you,” I sneered. My hand has already crashed the table and I didn’t even process it. 

As if her words weren’t enough to add wood to the fire, she fucking brushes off my statement by saying, “Aha… so what are we doing today?” 

I take in another breath, but I don’t bother to hide my anger anymore. “Cleaning.”

She is visually caught by surprise. “What? We’re not gonna train with one of those flying machines that you guys have or some shit like that?” 

“I don’t trust that you can handle an instrument of such complexity.” I make a short pause. “Actually, I don’t trust you for anything at all. I’m taking a big risk in making you clean.” 

For a moment, she dares to look proud of herself. “Damn, do I look that dangerous?”

“It’s not that you’re dangerous, but your behavior equals that of a child and I have never been patient with misbehaving brats.” I catch her picking at the leftover food, which reinforces my statement. “…Exactly my point.”

She transfers it over to a napkin and says, “I’m not playing around.”

“Then what the fuck would you call it?”

“I already told you that if you take me outside, you’d know.”

I don’t know why I have yet to punch the sassiness out of her; maybe because she’s still a woman and that’s a boundary my brain does not dare to cross. 

I hate to say that my curiosity has been picked.

“Don’t try anything funny.”

* * *

I follow closely after her as we cross the training grounds. She appears to know her way around the place far too well and it makes me wonder just how many times has she escaped her guards throughout the week that I was busy with paperwork. 

We reach the collection of trees that are generally used for maneuver gear training and I’m starting to think that she may be plotting to use the scenery to her advantage and escape. 

Not on my watch, woman. 

I would honestly be content if she just vanishes and gets eaten by a bear, but I have orders to follow… poor me. 

I’m about to call her for a retreat back to headquarters, but my intentions die when she crouches down in front of some bushes at the same time a black feline comes out. I notice that it is limping, but I’m mostly surprised by how comfortable it seems to be around the woman as if this encounter is already a routine. 

She places down the napkin with the pieces of meat and the cat dives in to eat. The visible urgency makes me believe that it has been starving for days. 

The woman is running her hand along the animal’s back in slow, repetitive strides and I think that this is the first time I’m watching her be at peace. I honestly don’t know what to say about this, but she takes the lead in explaining, “The jerk that I pushed down the stairs yesterday… he abused this poor fellow for no reason and it didn’t sit well with me.” 

Her words trigger an old flashback, one that I thought had already been left behind, rotting in the dust. 

But it would seem that the memory is as present as it was about a year ago, because the image of Isabel Magnolia is almost too vivid in my brain, and I’m starting to notice that this woman resembles her in many ways. From the childish behavior to that distinctive care for animals that made me have an interest in Isabel when she first crashed into my house with an injured bird in her hands. 

I start to feel some instinctive fondness for the woman because of the resemblance, but I am quick to extinguish the thought before it progresses any further. Instead, I get upset at myself for even daring to compare this lowlife to someone as unique and innocent as Isabel. 

The cat limps back into the bushes with a full stomach and the woman gets back on her feet. Her face holds a placid state now that her only concern for the day has been taken care of, it seems. 

She crosses her arms and dares to throw a smug look at me. “You thought I’d run away, didn’t you?” 

I can’t muster a response; my thoughts are still swimming in a past I had previously promised myself to forget. Clearly, I haven’t kept my word, because I can see Isabel as I look at this woman, even though I just told myself not to compare my friend to this criminal. 

There is sudden confusion in her eyes and a bit of wariness as she utters, “What?”

It helps me snap out of my stupidity and I immediately turn around a bit too urgently for my liking. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

I wait for her to pass me so that I can walk directly behind her and keep an attentive eye on her actions as we head back to the building. Once again, she doesn’t attempt anything and is obeying my instructions whenever I tell her which corridor to follow. I can see that she feels calm, as if she is content with herself for helping that animal.

Okay… so she doesn’t give two shits about the deeds that compose her atrocious criminal record, but is happy that a stray cat has had its meal for the day? What an abnormal person. 

We stop in front of a single door that is situated in the middle of a long hallway and the woman is visibly confused for a hot second. That is until I open the door and she realizes that it is a storage room. “Oh, right…” she utters, vile present in her tone. “Cleaning.” 

I hand over to her a broom and duster, which she reluctantly takes as I force them into her hands, and I go back inside to pick out more items that will be of use for the area that we’re about to clean. 

My hands are full as I step back out, so I kick the door and close it. I signal to the woman with my head and she starts dragging her feet in the direction that I instructed. 

We re-enter the small room where she previously had breakfast because I can’t think of a place inside headquarters that’s more disturbingly dirty than this literal piece of crap. I refuse to let it stay like this, especially because we’ll be having a lot of meals in here, at least until I’m certain that she can be around people without sticking a broom up their ass. 

Just as would a kid, she is growling complains while she drags the broom across the floor from behind her. 

The idiot should be thankful that I’m offering her the chance to be able to have her meals inside a clean environment where she doesn’t have to worry about dust or any cobwebs in the ceiling.

And speaking of which, I’m finding way too many up in the corners… I should have brought a ladder because I know that the chair will not be enough to reach the ceiling. 

Might a well start with the floor and windows while we’re here. 

I bring the white piece of cloth around the lower half of my face and tie it at the base of my nape. The actions always give me that same feeling as when I’m preparing myself to face off against a Titan. My point being… that this is as important of a job as killing Titans. 

And the incredulous look that the woman is giving me makes me guess that the determination is quite visible in my face. This is the only time that I actually allow any emotion to reflect in my eyes, just so that others can understand how serious I am about this. 

It is almost like she hears my thoughts as she says, “Um… okay?”

I’m sure that it is only a matter of time before I drill this routine into her head, not to worry. 

“Here.” I toss at her another piece of cloth and it crashes straight into her face at the same time that she cranes her neck to receive it. 

Her movements are intense as she pulls it off to shoot a glare at me, and I almost fail to catch the cloth after she unexpectedly hurls it back at me with the speed of a bullet. 

I must admit that the strength in her arms is decently surprising, but I, of course, do not give her the pleasure of letting her know that as I bring down the cloth to my side. “What the hell, woman,” I utter. 

“Don’t throw it at me like an animal—!” The words get stuck in her throat when the piece of fabric lands back on her face.

I made sure to apply an added force into my throw this time around. 

She grabs a hold of it and tosses it right back at me, but I catch it yet again with visible ease and I can tell that my attitude is riling her up. “You asshole!” she vents out. “Give it to me like a normal human being!”

For a lowlife, she sure demands a lot. 

“I’m not entitled to do as you please,” I say while flinging the cloth at her. She successfully catches it this time. 

I thought that she would keep it to herself now that it didn’t hit her face, but she gives it back to me like we are both in a game of catch; her only twist is the furiousness with which she throws. 

But, obviously, her efforts bear no fruit as I easily grab the cloth before it even touched my face and she starts venting out her anger on the floor. 

I actually have to make some effort to prevent my mouth from twitching.

What is happening to me? I can’t stoop down to her level, I refuse. 

“Forget it,” I say. “This is ridiculous.” 

She crosses her arms and huffs at the wall that is to the side. Not even a second later, the cloth crashes back on her face.

And I can’t believe that I’m allowing myself to smile a little as she hollers out a variety of insults that even I have never heard of before.


	7. Shit is out of Control

“Shit-maiden,” she says after what could have been a while of continuous peace and silence. 

Her lack of creativity burns out my itch to respond. Instead, I deliver a tantalizing, slow blink of my eyes and can only hope that it makes her feel as scatterbrained as she looks. 

Normally, I wouldn’t allow this type of behavior from anyone —someone like her, even less— but I have reached a point in which the stupid name-calling and sassy attitude means absolute shit to me. Moreover, it has started to feel like an everyday routine that I’m forced to undergo until she is kicked back into a cell. 

Should I be concerned about this? Probably. Tolerating her shitty attitude doesn’t mean that I am fond of it, but someone has to be the grown-ass person out of the two, or we will continue to participate in senseless arguments that are a complete waste of my time. She’s nothing, not even worth the energy that it takes me to elaborate a reply. 

She opens her mouth to attempt another remark, but her empty face tells me that nothing worth the trouble has crossed her pocket-size brain. She shuts her lips to a close and drops her attention back on the meal that constitutes her lunch to pick back where she left off. 

Good call. 

She shows clear distaste for the food, and I will openly admit that it has something to do with the week-old rations that I personally instructed the cook to utilize for her share of today’s meals. 

I don’t feel the least bit of remorse since this is my way of getting her back for all of the shit that she has attempted to pull on me for the past week and a half. 

But today, more than any other day, I was driven to the limits of my patience after a cleaning session that concluded in a fucking disaster because of her incompetence as an assistant. We barely got anything done. 

It’s no big news that most cadets fail to meet my standards regarding hygiene. Actually, there are a selected few whom I have listed as the unworthy beings that are prohibited from ever touching a broom for as long as I’m present in the building. I swear… there are skills that match the quality of an animal’s shit in diarrhea. I’m not exaggerating. 

I don’t know how, but this woman surpasses even the unworthy.

Whether she is as useless as she looks or merely pretends to be for the sake of provoking me, I have no damn clue, but I refuse to believe that she would ever think moping the ceiling is a thing that exists because a five-year-old would tell me that’s bullshit. 

Now, because of her, the white paint is stained with dark spots all over on both the ceiling and walls, since it appears that she doesn’t know a mop has to be cleansed before every use. I could take some fault in not explaining its proper use. Then again, I never expected that she would try to mop anything that isn’t the floor. 

Seriously. What the fuck, woman?

And as if that isn’t enough crap for the day, I later realized that she had tucked the grime under the rug, even after my clear instruction to dispose of it outside. That was literally the only thing that she had to do. 

Fast forward to lunch and I’m waiting for this woman to finish her goddamned meal so that I can grant myself the time to wash off the disgusting shit that got stuck on my skin when I picked up the rug to give it a jerk. 

Erwin… I get that I had every intention to kill you on our first meeting, but this is another level of savagery. 

I rest the side of my face on my left palm as she starts to poke the leftover food with a fork. One would think that she’d view every meal as a source of fuel rather than for its flavor, but her standards appear to be ridiculously high for someone who comes from the underground. What a brat.

I don’t need to express my impatience with words, because I am certain that the repetitive taps of my fingertips on my cheek are a clear enough giveaway. Shoving down the food down her throat myself sounds like a very tempting idea, indeed. 

Because of her whims and terrible attitude, I see her as anything but an assassin. Even the picture of a child will fit her better. “You don’t strike me as the type that would kill for a living,” I speak out on impulse. 

There is excessive pride in her voice when she answers, “Appearances can be deceiving.” 

“Trust me. Your case has nothing to do with looks.” 

She throws her left arm across the back of the chair and maintains a casual look in her gray eyes. Her voice, however, has acquired a pronounced heftiness. “Don’t act as if you know shit about us ‘underground people’ and our ‘lousy behavior’, because you can never relate.” She grimaces when none of her words have moved a muscle in my face. 

And it’s not that I lack the sympathy, given that I was born like them, but I don’t want her to feel associated with me just because of the similarities in our pasts. I’d much rather feign ignorance. “I guess I’m one lucky son of a bitch.”

Her pupils roll to the back of her head. I can almost hear her saying how tired she is of my ‘bullshit talk’. 

“You **are** lucky. All of you, military morons, are.” She swings one leg over the other and continues, “And those MP guards you guys send over to ‘maintain order’ make sure that we get the message every damn day. Life is miserable enough as it is. We would do much better without their presence.”

I understand that it is her ignorance making her think that a scout would ever fall short on morals when such behavior is characteristic of an MP, so I will refrain from knocking her out just this once. 

More importantly, I get the feeling that her resentment is being sparked by some tragic story from her past, one that could be informative enough to Erwin if I manage to pull the words out of her petty mouth. For that reason, I meddle further. “I take it someone did you injustice?” 

She hangs her head to the back as if gravity pulled it down. The time that she takes to answer makes me think that she has caught on to my intentions. “Who knows?” she slurs. “It’s not like speaking about it will get us anywhere.” 

Her face is obscured from my sight. If a certain memory has triggered some form of emotion in her, then she is making sure that I don’t see it spilled into her facial expressions. 

And I don't get any self-satisfaction from watching her weep her eyeballs out, but I sure as hell want her looking back at me while I’m being generous enough to speak to her. “Oi, look at me.”

She throws her head back into sight and crashes directly with my eyes. There is a look of neutrality in her face, forced into place only for me to see as if to prove that nothing ever crossed her features. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she accuses. “I will not talk.” 

“It's not like I wanted to hear you whine about your problems,” I say to defend my position. 

If looks could stab, she’d be giving it a fair try as of now. “The fuck? You started asking me about my shit, first!” 

“It was a rhetorical question, you moron.”

She pushes the tray out of the way to make space for her elbows. “I wasn’t going to remain quiet and let you step over my pride.”

“Then, how is it that I have memorized the size of your head out of stepping you a couple of hundreds of times?”

“Don’t exaggerate.” She sticks out her fingers for me to see. “Four times, only!”

She counted?

“—and when I said ‘step over’, I meant it as in ‘letting others degrade my accomplishments’, given that you don’t see me as someone who could act the part of a killer.” 

I raise a questioning brow. “In other words, killing others is an accomplishment to boast about?”

She crosses her arms and looks away to the side. “When you live underground, getting that kind of recognition will grant you respect from others. In other words, a better chance of survival.” She makes a pause to turn her head back to where I’m seated. “I can prove you wrong.”

“What?” I think some of the confusion spilled into my eyes, though I hope not. 

“I challenge you to a battle of fists. Let’s see if you still find me unworthy by the time I kick your ass down to the ground.”

“There’s no need… and regardless of how I see you, it is your behavior that speaks levels.”

She plumps her back on the chair’s rails. A grin shapes her lips in a cornering way. “Are you saying that all criminals have to portray the same dull, son of a bitch type of personality?” She taps her chin as if thinking about her words as she stares at the ceiling. “Oh wait, I was describing you. My bad.” 

I hope she falls victim to constipation.

Nevertheless, I remain passive on the exterior and say, “The souls of those you’ve murdered should be weighing you down.” I know that from personal experience. 

She fucking laughs, and it is taking everything in me to stay seated in my chair. 

“You believe in the after-life, shit-maiden?”

“I believe in karma,” I utter back. 

“Is that so?” She melts the upper front of her body on the table. “Why are innocent children starving underground as we speak? I find hard to believe that two or three years of life in this world is enough for karma to judge and inflict punishment.” 

Valid point. 

I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved in a topic this delicate and debatable. My ‘love’ —cue, quotation marks— for speech doesn’t amount to what is required for a chit-chat of this magnitude, and I am not about to submerge in it with someone like her. 

I spoke out on impulse because of my past relationship with karma itself. I killed, tortured and stole until it came over to pick up the tab for my deeds. There is no greater form of punishment than life itself, that’s why I was the only one who survived on the day my two friends perished at the hands of a Titan. 

Karma’s a bitch, what else can I say? 

“Fight me,” she nags.

I give her a look that screams ‘stop annoying me’. 

And yet, she persists, “So you can shut your trap once and for all.”

“Not the best proposal to get you out of stable duty.”

Even behind strands of hair, I can see the smug look that taints her whole face. 

“It should only take me about two or three minutes,” she boasts. 

It’s not like she would win, but I don’t want to trouble myself with a fight for no valid reason. 

“You’re cleaning the stable and that’s my final order.” I push back on the chair and get up. “Now, let’s go.” 

“No.”

I narrow my glare and snarl, “Excuse me?”

“I will not listen to a single word coming out of your crude mouth until you prove yourself worthy of my respect,” she bitches about. 

Oh fuck, I’m starting to lose it. 

I head over to where she’s seated and stop just as the shadow of my frame towers above her whole body. “I can change your mind about that.” 

She jumps to her feet. Our heads stand almost at the same height. “Then, let’s take this outside.”

What does she think this is? A street fight? I will not tarnish my reputation because of her. “No need. I can make it quick right where we stand.” 

In an attempt of mine to intimidate her further, I raise my hand towards her face.

—and I hate to admit that I am caught off-guard when she swats it off with adamant force.

“Outside,” she persists. 

* * *

I can’t believe I let myself be manipulated by this woman. 

My desire to back down is ever-so-present, but I can always count on my damn pride to stop me from talking my way out of situations that threaten my reputation. 

Now, it’s too late to say anything, because I have already been dragged into the fields. Plus, some of the cadets have followed us here to sneak a look from afar.

They know I hate on-lookers, yet they are still here, basking in the fact that I can’t leave this woman on her own for even a second. 

They got lucky, is all.

We stand a fair distance away. I am folding my jacket to leave it on a bench while the woman stands at the center of the field, and I can see from my peripheral vision that she is hoping and stretching as if to prepare for the brawl of her life. 

My face contorts with stress and I breathe out a noisy sigh. I tend to give myself these moments when no one is around to witness. 

“What’s taking you so long, shit-maiden?” she howls. 

That new nickname is going to be the cause of her death if she keeps that up. 

I take off the white cravat that I wear around my neck and place it on top of the jacket. Unlike the woman, I limit my warm-up to a simple rotation of shoulders as I’m heading over to where she stands. The movement allows me to take note of the restrain that my shirt imposes on my arms, so I unfasten the first button. 

And of course, she spots the opportunity to taunt. “Oh, so you do have a neck. I couldn’t tell because of that piece of cloth you’re always choking yourself with.”

Terrible joke aside, I hate that I am forced to raise the volume of my voice above my average use in account of the distance that lies between us. “Shut your mouth and do what you came here for.” 

She prepares to dash forward. Her lips are stretched in the form of a concerning grin as she utters, “My pleasure.” 

A single blink of eyes is all it takes for her mischievous eyes to become murderous and her aura to fill up on vile hatred. I feel it burning stronger the closer she sprints to where I stand. The woman I barely know has been stowed aside for this darker version in the time that it would take me to snap two fingers, and I am reminded of when I first saw her in court; enraged and venomous. I would still believe that it was but a fragment of my imagination if she wasn’t acting like this in front of my eyes.

I am forced to protect my face from her first attack. Our noses stand mere inches apart amidst our struggle of equal force against each other and it discourages me to realize that I can’t push her off with the sheer use of my strength. I openly take the blame for letting myself get distracted in the first place. 

The size of her smirk expresses her boastfulness. Simultaneously, I blow out a strand of my hair. Though, if I’m honest, I’m actually venting out my frustrations. 

Distress has me scouting for a different plan of action to what I had in mind earlier, but the woman makes her next move before I can act upon my thoughts and she literally sticks out her disgusting tongue at me. 

I swear I feel it graze my lip… dear Walls.

Stupid of an attack as it may be, it worked —yes, I am ashamed— and she utilizes my brief moment of distraction to strike again. 

Omitting that repulsive lick, the woman stands her ground with adequate technique, I’ll give her that much praise, but her speed isn’t enough to inflict a successful hit on me. 

The slow deterioration of her confidence gives rise to mine and I am able to trap the upper half of her body in between my arms just before she can attempt to punch my face. The uncomfortable position, plus her surprise, makes it easier for me to force her out of balance. 

I twist her arm to the back without using the type of force that would break her bones, but it is enough to render her immobile and give me the three seconds that I need to handcuff her wrist. 

“What the fuck?” she growls, almost out of breath. 

Let it be known that I always come prepared for a battle, even the insignificant ones. 

For a moment, I feel at ease— 

Big fucking mistake, because she catapults the back of her head into my goddamned nose. 

I flinch, but refuse let go of her arm to preserve what remains of my pride and dignity. If anything, my grip tightens and it takes every ounce of my will to restrain myself from snapping it in half. I can’t afford to run my fingers across the area that she smacked, given that I need all of my strength to restrain her arm. Thus, I am left wondering whether blood is dripping out of my nostrils like a fucking river or not. I’d hate for the meddling cadets to see such pitiful sight. 

Ugh, this shit is not what I signed up for. 

She tries to fly her free elbow into my chest, thinking that the pain would somehow slow me down. Well, the woman should know better, because I block her attack without delay and seize her second arm from any further movement. 

She struggles under the weight of my body, and I use the opportunity to force down her hand, right beside the other to handcuff them together. Furthermore, I kick her from behind with enough strength to plunge her down. 

Cuffed and kissing the ground, the woman has no chance of pulling any of her dirty tricks on me. 

She takes in a breath to silence her pants. Surprisingly, I’m in no better condition than her. My lungs are also struggling for air and I can feel the sweat traveling down on my back. Moreover, and I kid you not, my nose seriously fucking aches. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had rocks in place of a brain, given that it would, at the very least, give her obnoxious personality an explanation. 

Nevertheless, my years of working with pain in all of its shapes and sizes have allowed me to develop a decent tolerance for it, so keeping my arms folded as I turn to address the unwanted onlookers is not the least bit troublesome to me. 

I see them cowering behind a wall, a couple of feet away, like bait, which only motivates me to act as the predator they warrant. “Now that your needs for entertainment have been satisfied, I suggest you lot use what remains of your break to shovel the pile of shit that has yet to be taken out of the stable.” 

They visibly force down the urge to grimace, and I can’t help but wish, as they bark a synchronize chorus of ‘yes, sir’, that the woman acted out just a fraction of what these men do. 

“Yay, I’m out of stable duty,” she says, breathlessly, and devoid of the exhilaration that would normally match a sentence of such sense. 

I wait for the cadets to get out of my sight before I make a full turn to where the woman lies on her back. She’s staring at the sky as if I hadn’t destroyed her ass, just now.

“Lucky for you, I’m a damn creative guy,” I say. “And I have plenty of different options than can replace stable duty.” 

She huffs. “A creative guy would not opt for that hairstyle.”

Now, just because I was making a half-assed attempt at a joke, doesn’t mean that she has the right to jest in return like we’re buddies. That aside, has she ever looked in the mirror? 

I flick my eyes over to her sweat-covered, disheveled, fucking dry, practically dead, long-ass caveman-type of hair and wait a moment before switching back to her eyes. In the case that she’s not entirely scatterbrained, she should have gotten at least half of what I meant to communicate. “No comment,” I mutter. 

“Because you know it’s true,” she answers, smirking and completely oblivious to the jungle on her head, it would seem. 

In return, I jerk my brow upward, but honestly, I’m just trying to shove all of my anger into the movement to prevent myself from kicking the living daylights out of her. “Save the energy that you waste on jokes for cleaning duties, instead.”

A raspy sound heaves from the deep end of her throat. “All you ever talk about is cleaning duties.” She discards the view of the sky for my face, letting me catch sight of a disturbing sparkle in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I found you fucking a broom in your office.” 

… This bitch.

She hisses when I pull her hair and force her to sit up. My first sign of frustration seeps out as I lean over to growl, “I will scrub the fuck out of the floor with your ass.” 

“Whoah.” The woman grins, her voice disturbingly sugary as she says. “Easy there, Titan.”

Suddenly, her hand flips to sneak a sharp hold on my wrist, fingernails included. I would have already forgotten about the shackles if they weren’t loosely hanging from her wrist. The surprise that taints my face must be the reason behind her over-sized smirk and mischievous eyes. 

How did she—?

As if to answer my question, her other hand jerks into view, a rusty key trapped in her palm. The same that should have been stored in my back pocket. 

Not too shabby, I’m impressed.

Ugh, wait.

This explains why I can’t gain any control over her. For whatever reason —maybe because she comes from the underground, I don’t know— I have, for the most part, been overly permissive and a fucking softie. 

What an embarrassment. 

Erwin did tell me to go easy on her, but when it comes to circumstances that are under my control; such as respect, I can only blame myself for letting it progress to this extent. 

I have to urgently put a stop to this, now. Or else, she will continue to downgrade my level of authority until a time may come in which she will rebel against me. Not only will that tarnish my reputation, but also affect Erwin and every future victim of hers.

I am forced out of my frenzied thoughts by the increasing discomfort in my wrist, which reminds me of the mosquito-like hold that she is persistently keeping on my skin. 

She opens her mouth to speak again, ignoring the fact that she is blocking blood circulation from my hand. “I’m more of a stealth kind of gal. I work better from the shadows,” she tries to justify herself. 

What a sore loser.

I shake off her hand and take the time to stare at the mark that she left. I flick my stare to her, pissed-off, and mutter, “I don’t need to hear your excuses.”

She rolls her eyes, and I let it pass by unnoticed only because it is taking all of my energy to stay cool. “I heard from some noobs that you’re a big deal around these parts and I wanted to test that out myself,” she further elaborates. “You’re not amazing, though, just average.”

I don’t claim myself to be, so I will not refute. 

Yet, as if to further test my nonexistent patience, she murmurs, “… Shit-maiden.”

I walk until my shadow lurks fully on her. Stressfully enough, she doesn’t react nor displays the fear I wish to instill. “Quit that already,” I growl. “If you know what’s good for you.” 

She fucking grins, again. “Of course. I’ll call you perverted-maiden, instead.” 

I pull her by the earlobe and force her to stand up so that we can walk back to headquarters. My distress extends to such lengths, that I almost forgot about my jacket and cravat. I’m not even bothered by the sweat that has seeped into my shirt. “Get moving, you cavewoman.”

“Well,” she breathes out, nonchalant as ever. “At least you used the correct gender on that insult.” 

I used to believe that I could deal with my own problems just fine, but I realize now that I was only lucky enough to never experience what it is like to have everything escape my control. This woman has shown me that I can’t handle my own shit when it overlaps and that honestly worries me.

Just, what the fuck am I going to do with this devil?

**Author's Note:**

> Editor and wonderful source of inspiration: [Aars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aars/pseuds/Aars)
> 
> Her story: [Late Beginnings (Levi x Reader)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047310/chapters/45243385)


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